


Can You Burn A Fire In My Flesh?

by underworlds



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Bottom Roxas, Brat Roxas, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Axel, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Orgasm, Power Exchange, Spanking, Stress Relief, Subspace, Top Axel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underworlds/pseuds/underworlds
Summary: Sometimes Roxas requires a firm hand.
Relationships: Axel/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Can You Burn A Fire In My Flesh?

**Author's Note:**

> This is for y’all, you know who you are. ;)

Roxas woke up on the wrong side of the bed. And that bed might as well have been on the wrong hemisphere with how prickly he felt from the very moment of waking. His sleep the night prior had been fitful and he could sense a crick in his neck developing before he even opened his reluctant eyes, which quickly focused on the hamper of dirty clothes across the room. The blonde hadn’t been able to do his laundry the night before, someone monopolizing the building machines for hours, and he petulantly shrugged on a dirtier than he would have liked hoodie to face the day. His negative outlook of said day turned out to be a prophecy, self fulfilling or otherwise.

Roxas rounded the corner on his way to the kitchen and stumbled over the large, beat up futon that had taken up residence in his living room for the past three weeks. Such a montrosity belonged to Demyx, who was storing it until he could move it into his new apartment. Which was supposed to be a week ago. Instead, it remained a constant eyesore and tripping hazard until what was to be this blessed afternoon. Next, Roxas hadn’t been able to make himself some quick hard boiled eggs for breakfast in their bare kitchen, not with their only pot buried at the base of the pyramid of dishes in the sink and still ‘soaking’ from the previous afternoon. Roxas wrinkled his nose at the grime and refused to stick his hand into the cesspit this early. Xion hadn’t washed them the night before and even though she was hardly _ever_ the contributor to Roxas’s sour mood, the cesspit set the tone for the day. His car stalling when he tried to turn it over, forcing him to sprint to the bus three blocks down, kept it going.

Hungry, he made it to class, but didn’t have the opportunity to speak to the professor privately to admit that his camera was being repaired and he wouldn’t be able to participate. He suffered through the indignity of announcing it to the entire class when groups were being assigned. Sure, his professor didn’t give him too much of a hard time, Roxas didn’t care enough of what the majority of his classmates thought about his lack of preparation, but he knew he wouldn’t be dismissed to go home early. Instead he spent the following two hours trying not to lose his mind, staring fruitlessly at the industrial site his classmates were shooting while trying to banish his rapidly developing bad mood with rolls of his tense shoulders.

Being the only one between the roommates with time available between the class and his appointment to pick up his camera, Roxas has anxiously awaited Demyx’s arrival to finally haul that ungodly piece of crap out of his house. Yet, 2 PM and then 2:30 rolled by and there was no Demyx, just Roxas and the futon. By then, he hadn’t just said ‘fuck it’, he had loudly declared it to the futon, to God, and to anybody in the surrounding apartments before he slammed the door on his way out.

Roxas quickly stomped his way down the building stairs, glowering at how Demyx didn’t respond to any of his texts. The next time he stormed up the stairs an hour and a half later, he was even angrier, as evidenced by the echo of each loud footstep, like something out of Jurassic Park. He’d missed the shop closing by the time he’d arrived and despite his rapping uselessly at the locked door, it was succinctly clear that he would not be getting his camera back today. Which meant he would be late getting to class tomorrow, even with a functional piece of equipment.

To compound it further, the Indian restaurant he’d been looking forward to ordering tonight, after the hours of hunger pangs, which had become the beacon of hope in an otherwise infuriating day, was revealed to be closed for renovations for the next three days. He just couldn’t win even the most basic and measly of odds today. By the time Roxas stalked into the apartment he was ready to commit a misdemeanor. When he opened the door with a fierce twist of the key and wrench of the knob and caught sight of the futon still sitting cumbersomely in the corner it escalated to a felony.

Growling and grumbling to himself, aggressively kicking off his high-tops so they collided with the wall and then the floor, Roxas didn’t immediately register that he wasn’t alone in the apartment. Axel, his boyfriend, lay in a lazy sprawl on the living room sofa. Having finished work at the garage early for the day, he likely only recently got home by the sight of him still dressed in his oil stained wife beater and boots. Axel’s scarlet hair was up in a loose bun that shifted when he lifted his head from his phone screen to regard Roxas.

“Bad day?” 

“What do you think?” Roxas bit out, scowling and continuing while Axel took a sip from the icy glass of water on the end table. “Why the fuck is Demyx’s goddamn futon still here? He was supposed to pick it up at 2.”

“He texted me and told me that this big gig audition came up last minute and he had to head there to make it in time.” Axel replaced the glass. “Said he should be by round 7 for it with Lex.”

“Well, would have been nice to answer _my_ texts!” Roxas growled with a curled lip. “Instead of me waiting around here for nothing and missing getting my camera back.”

“He was prolly on the soundstage,” Axel suggested, watching his boyfriend throw a glare that could have shattered glass at the futon. 

“Great,” Roxas sarcastically laughed, pulling off his dirty hoodie with more force than necessary.

Taking another sip of his water, Axel considered how he hadn’t seen Roxas this bottled up in a while. Sure, Roxas could be prickly, sarcastic, even downright terrifying, it was part of his charm. However, he was behaving as if his dial had been cranked up to the max. This undoubtedly wasn’t just a single day of shitty coincidences, but something that had been festering for a while. He thought back and couldn’t remember his boyfriend rescheduling his missed therapy appointment for a while now. Roxas tended to do that, bottle things up to the point of combustion, and it drove Axel nuts.

“Wanna talk about your shitty day?” he tried, still in his comfortable lounging position, tattooed arms draped over the back and arm of the couch.

“No.” The blonde slumped into the deep chair at one corner of the table.

Axel watched his boyfriend’s knee bounce restlessly. “Might help.”

“Might help if Xion did her dishes so I could have used the fucking sink this morning,” Roxas growled, glaring into space.

“S’been like a day, Rox. She’ll get to ‘em.” Axel reminded him. “And it’s not like we’re pinnacle of tidy either.”

“Whatever.” The boy who wouldn’t be reasoned with spit with a tone of finality.

Roxas made to get up, feeling like he was vibrating out of his skin too much to sit still, and it all came to a head when his knee made abrupt and painful contact with the edge of the coffee table. With the burst of pain shooting through his leg reflexively making him stumble and clutch at the site, it only took a delay of milliseconds for that flare of pain to travel up and exit quite loudly and colorfully from Roxas’s mouth.

“Fucking fuck!” Roxas shouted, kicking at the offending table once, twice, three times. “Motherfucking cocksucking bitch! Of fucking course! _Of_. _Fucking_. **_Course_**!” 

Sure, he was aware that Axel was very much still there in his lazy, offensively unaffected sprawl on the couch. He had a front row seat to what Roxas knew, on some level, one that was below that of the more urgent belief that this outburst was completely justified, that he was being childish by throwing a tantrum like this over something so incredibly minor. But minor or not, it was the final straw that broke the Chocobo’s back, the sour cherry on top of the melting, low-calorie dairy-free sundae of a day. And Roxas was determined to make sure everyone in the nearby vicinity knew it. And heard it.

He continued, letting out a snarl that tapered into a hardly muffled scream that he felt slice along the inside of his throat, as he stomped harshly with the foot attached to his throbbing knee. He continued a mindless repetitive, verbal loop of how this might as well happen, alluding to various religious figures in blasphemous verbiage, his mind spinning like a wheel without a stabilizing bolt as it recycled through every inconvenience and misfortune of the day, week, month, and lifetime that had accumulated.

Axel, to his credit, continued to observe with a placid albeit mildly curious expression as Roxas stormed around with all of the violent authenticity of Godzilla assailing Tokyo. The blonde being a spitfire was something Axel was well-acquainted with, one of the traits he found particularly attractive, but this Roxas was less spitfire and more an uncontrolled force of destruction. This was a Roxas who’s grenade pin had been pulled. The fact that he himself was the one to pull it made little difference. He still went off.

“Done?” Axel asked neutrally when Roxas took a moment between profane yells to take a breath to stoke the flames fueling his crusade, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Normally Axel would tease him, call him Hurricane Roxas or Roxzilla, but he held his tongue, knowing the boy well enough that it would only prolong this tantrum.

“No, I’m not fucking done!” Roxas snapped, bashing his own hip carelessly against the couch arm, the legs scuffing against the hardwood in the slightest of shifts with the added weight of Axel seated on it. 

Axel frowned at the display, gaze dropping to Roxas’s hip, which had to be smarting with the beginnings of a bruise from the broken blood vessels such impact with the hard structure of the couch would create. Roxas didn’t reach for it this time, whether too blinded by his rage or out of sheer stubbornness to not acknowledge the pain.

“Roxas, stop that.” he said as Roxas did it again, apparently dissatisfied with how short of a distance the large, heavy piece of furniture moved.

“Fuck off!” Roxas growled, spinning away to stomp towards the next victim of his warpath. Whether that be the horrified lamp on the end table or the unwitting pair of shoes on the carpet. It was when the blonde shoved his shoulder against the wall that divided the living room from the kitchen that Axel stood up and turned to him with a stony face.

“Roxas, stop that!” he repeated, voice having lost all playfulness. “Stop hurting yourself!”

“I don’t care!” Roxas shouted in his direction, already pacing back across the room.

“I do,” Axel’s frown deepened, his brow furrowed disapprovingly, uncharacteristically directed at Roxas. He would almost swear he could see the steam wafting off Roxas’s shoulders, out of his ears, through the thin gaps in his gritted, bared teeth. “Knock it off.”

“ _‘Knock it off!’_ ” Roxas repeated in a mocking tone of voice as he began to round the table again. “S’my choice isn’t it?!”

Axel saw the beeline Roxas was about to make, for the blameless and likely terrified futon Demyx had left for safekeeping, not for slaughter. He took a step between the couch and the table to bodily block the calamitous path of his boyfriend. “Roxa-!”

Roxas attempted to brush by him with a vicious snap of, “Shut up!”

Suddenly, the world tilted and Roxas would have guessed that he’d tripped on the carpet edge in his haste if not for the almost painful pressure around bicep forcefully moving him rather than the sensation of free falling. For all his talk, Roxas’s free arm rose to shield his face for impact, only to find himself eye to eye with one of the couch cushions. He barely had time to register the feeling of firm, lean thighs beneath his lower rib cage and abdomen, of the weight of a calloused hand closing around the nape of his neck and holding tight, of understanding that Axel had grabbed him and manhandled him like it was nothing, before he felt a harsh, almighty, tug at the waistband of his jeans.

Roxas let out a confused, scandalized squawk of sound at the unrelenting pulling at his pants, trying to get his arms beneath him to give himself enough leverage to push himself up and off what he was realIzing was Axel’s lap. His brain, still delayed by the boiling effects of his tantrum, only just caught up to what was possibly going on, what Axel was determined to accomplish, when the cool air of the living room that met his bared ass was immediately replaced by a lash of painful heat as Axel spanked him. Hard.

Roxas gasped, out of shock, pain, and the plain reality of what just happened. Axel had spanked him. And it wasn’t a playful smack of the ass that was a staple of their relationship and Axel’s everyday shenanigans. This was entirely different in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down Roxas’s frame and directly to his cock before he could collect himself. He and his brothers had never been spanked growing up so he didn’t have much reference to compare this to. His nerves crossed in a flourish of aroused confusion. When he did regain himself, remembered himself, Roxas struggled against the grip Axel had on him, growling into the cushion where the older hand and pinned his head to by the neck. 

He had to turn his head to the side to breathe, huffing and gasping when Axel didn’t even pause after the first swat, struck the opposite cheek with equal force. The indignity, the absurdity of this situation, flashed across Roxas’s mind each time the sting began to taper off, and he reinvigorated his efforts to push himself up and off Axel’s lap. He couldn’t make it more than a few inches, not with the way Axel had him pinned like a pretty, poisonous butterfly. Despite his wriggling, his snarling, the digging of his nails into what he could reach of Axel’s knee, and his renewed choir of profanity, each time Axel hand connected with his skin he yelped, breaking his concentration on escaping. To make matters worse, Axel didn’t maintain any kind of predictable rhythm or aim when his palm cracked down against the soft, feverish skin of Roxas’s ass. He also wasn't being even remotely generous about it, repeatedly striking a strip of flesh again before the initial flash of pain even had time to be processed by Roxas’s dizzy brain. 

The successive and unpredictable assaults had Roxas gritting his teeth in anticipation of the next, because from this position he couldn’t see Axel at all, couldn’t guess where and how hard he was going to land his next one. The fact Axel was so uncharacteristically silent only further enhanced the dizzying strangeness of where Roxas found himself. For as unfortunate as this day had been, this wasn’t at all how he thought it would culminate. As the hits rained down, the overheated fury in his brain began to dissolve and he lost the ability to continue bracing himself for each impact. His perception narrowed instead to the stinging buzz and heavy ache developing in his ass and the throbbing of his pulse through his erect cock. The pins and needles that buzzed like static in and beneath his skin with each impact had him ducking his head into the cushion, to smear the traitorous wetness developing in his eyes the longer this continued.

Roxas now found himself less clawing at Axel’s denim thigh and the upholstery of the couch in an effort to escape and more clinging to them, not unlike a sailor desperately clutching at a mooring line, lest he be dragged out to sea. He sniffled and kept his head tucked against the cushion, the dark fabric further clouding his tunneling vision. Axel’s palm cracked against the top of his ass with particular force, almost knocking the wind out of him, and loosening the last stronghold of resistance. Once the first sob burst from his open mouth, evoked when Axel dealt two quick, successive strikes, not coddling the trembling blonde with even a few seconds of respite to recover, the deep sobs kept coming like river water through a breached dam.

The loud, wracking, sounds of his crying filled the silence of the apartment when it wasn’t interspaced with the sharp clap of flesh smacking against flesh. It was surreal and overwhelming. He felt his head get equally heavy and lightheaded from the effort of sobbing, the situation, the feeling of releasing all the wire-taut tension that had woven through him. For how long it went on, he didn’t know. Time and each subsequent hit melted and bled into the next. His lungs strained for air like branches twisting towards the scorching sun.

After a final, hard strike to the curve where his ass met his thigh, the expanse of Axel’s palm settled over the raised, pink skin of his cheeks and it felt as heavy and hot as an iron. The only sounds were Roxas’s breaths and the click of his throat as the spinning room began to slow its rotation in time with the unhurried, clockwise rubbing of Axel’s hand. Like the spanking, the prolonged physical contact of his hand with Roxas’s sore, swollen, flesh both hurt and provided a syrupy, grounding pleasure.

He was acutely aware, all at once, of how painfully hard his dick was, pressed snugly against Axel’s lap where it had not attained much friction despite his earlier thrashing. They stayed like that until Roxas’s heartbeat began to slow from a full gallop to a trot, so it was jarring when Axel spoke for the first time in what felt like hours as he let his other hand resume its place at Roxas’s neck.

“Those were for being a brat,” Axel told him in a cool, detached voice, a contrast to the slow, idle strokes of his finger against the nape of Roxas’s damp deck.

 _Brat_. Roxas gasped wetly, panting at the jolt of heat those words, in that low, smooth voice sent through him. He’d never really been one for infantilizing terminology, in or out of the bedroom, by friends or otherwise. He had dealt out his share of punches in response to them as insults or taunts, so he’d been surprised when he’d taken more easily than he expected to Axel calling him pet names like ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ when they first got involved. Even today, Axel usually reserved the more cringey, cavity inducing ones as a means to tease Roxas. This though, this wasn’t teasing. This was outright Axel calling him a brat, a misbehaving, childish, disrespectful, selfish, brat the same way one calls a spade a spade.

And he _liked_ it. 

Even as embarrassment, a foreign feeling, washed over him like hot wax, twisting and pooling in the pit of his belly, Roxas felt the starkly cold shudder of shame also seize him almost as tightly as the grip at his neck. Axel was right. He was being a brat. He let out a half-stifled sob. He’d overreacted to the most minor of inconveniences like a lunatic, lashed out when Axel was trying to help him, take care of him.

“These next ones are for not coming to me for this earlier.”

The blonde shuddered through a whimper at the gravity of those words, what they meant. They weren’t done. Despite all his tears, despite giving up fighting so hard, despite how much he wanted to come and pass out, it wasn’t over. And even though Roxas’s ass stung, the cheeks hot and swollen like the second full day of a bad sunburn, and he would wager the color was also comparable, he felt both his heart and his dick jump at that information. If he wanted this to be over, if this was enough, this was the time to say it. The trouble was, it wasn’t enough, not yet.

He needed Axel to drive out the toxic infestation of tension and stress and rage that had taken root inside like a parasite out of him. Let it filter out through the salt of his tears, in the cries and wracking sobs each strike of Axel’s unyielding hand preceded. He ducked his head tighter toward Axel’s hip, unfocused vision narrowing on the upholstery stitching, as he let out a whimper of acknowledgment.

“And Roxas?”

He couldn’t move to look towards Axel at the inquiry, not with the weight of his hands on his neck and tailbone keeping him pinned. However, from the light but dangerous tenor of his voice, Roxas estimated that it would be in his best interest to answer Axel, this stern, mean, and incredibly arousing Axel, verbally. He swallowed, throat sore and tight from his earlier shouting and the sounds, both intentional and not, this scene forced out of him, summoning his words after a surprising and intriguing amount of effort. 

“Y-Yeah?”

He felt Axel’s long fingers tighten around the flesh of his nape, dig into the taut muscles where Roxas held more tension than he realized, like a dark promise, or a threat, which his following words only confirmed.

“Do not even think about coming.”

That was an equally impossible order to follow.

Later on, Roxas might kick himself for how few hits it took for him to break and start crying again. However, in the moment, it seemed utterly unreasonable to keep holding back after the fifth strike to his already abused ass. And like before, once he got going, it was like a runaway train.

“ _P-Please_ , please, please!” Roxas implored between sobs. He wasn’t even sure what exactly he was begging for. For this to end, for it to continue, to be allowed to come, to be forgiven for acting like an insufferable brat. The word tumbled from between his lips more times than he could count, could remember saying. He could feel the fabric of Axel’s wifebeater against his side, under which he could also feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, only slightly labored with the continuous exertion of his left hand and arm as it swung to deliver more hits.

When it stopped several swats later, Roxas hardly registered it from his new far away location in his head. He could feel the fabric of his jeans and boxers being tugged down his limp legs, but it was only when his field of vision shifted, darkness suddenly giving way to blinding light, that he dared to even consider they might be done now. The shapes and shadows of what he recognized as the living room and its unmoved contents distantly passed by his awareness. He felt himself being moved again, with the same confident manipulation as earlier but without the aggressive surprise of when Axel first put him over his knee.

Roxas was more ragdoll than human in that moment, sank heavily into the new position Axel maneuvered him into, still on his lap, only now his stinging bottom rested on the redhead’s thighs, his knees on either side of Axel’s waist, facing him. He hissed and whined at the rough, abrasive contact of the denim with his swollen, red ass. When Axel was satisfied, the hand on his neck guiding Roxas to lean forward just slightly enough so the majority of the surface area of his cheeks lifted from the denim, he snapped the fingers of his free hand in the trench between their faces.

Roxas’s vision, swimming and heavy-lidded Pacific blue, focused at the sound and settled on Axel’s face for the first time in however long it was since this began. Roxas hiccuped a bit, overcome and bewildered at how his heart clenched and his dick throbbed again from just looking at Axel, like he was seeing the sun for the first time after a year underground. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have it memorized, from the curve of his jawline and small, faint scar under his chin, to the precise angle of the arch of his thin cardinal brows, the upturned corners of his disarmingly bright green eyes and where the kohl lined and winged out around them.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t see Axel’s face every day, more often than not it was the very first and the very last thing he saw. The older man’s expression was closed off and carefully neutral in a disconcerting way, similar to how he looked in the moments before a fight broke out at the bar. Roxas had always found that dangerous side of his boyfriend hot, but directed at him it added another dizzying layer to it, one that mingled with the embarrassment and shame still simmering. He watched Axel watching him, vision blurring as his tears renewed and prickled along his already swollen lids. He whined again, a piteous sound he could no longer even feign to withhold.

“I was going to make you count,” Axel told him in that same cold, unaffected tone that made Roxas’s lower lip wobble. “But you were crying and making such a mess I didn’t see the point in asking you to do something you couldn’t possibly achieve.”

The demeaning jab hit Roxas right in the solar plexus. Fully Coherent Roxas would bite back at that challenge, tell him he’d prove him wrong, put himself back over Axel’s knees and show him just how stupid he was underestimate him. But this Roxas, the puddle of him, only whimpered and sniffled under Axel’s erotically disinterested stare. It was a relief and a point of anxiety when Axel arched one brow stoically and cocked his head.

“Do you have anything you want to say to me, Roxas?” 

“M’sorry,” Roxas repeated in a soft croak. “M’sorry, Ax...”

Axel looked down at him, releasing the hold at his neck, letting him sit in the absence of a response to his apology for a few long moments before replying with, “What are you sorry for?”

Roxas thought, and it was harder than expected with his mind dissolved into molasses-thick porridge, and especially without Axel’s anchoring hands on him. “For...for being a brat,” he said slowly, stomach twisting eagerly and bashfully at the last word he said.

“And?” Axel prompted, clipped, almost unimpressed.

When Roxas’s brow furrowed, the synapses in his brain firing in pathetic bursts of static electricity that offered no answers, the blonde started to get worked up in frustration, a fresh flood of tears threatening to fall. As if taking the slightest bit of pity on him, Axel wordlessly and casually pressed his thumb to Roxas’s hipbone. Roxas jolted at the unexpected bloom of pain, so unaccustomed to it in another location than his rear or his purpled cock. When he recovered, he recognized that aching spot as where he bashed himself against the couch, creating what was sure to be a brilliant black and blue tomorrow. 

“...For hurting myself,” Roxas murmured, feeling the entangled sensation of embarrassment and shame wash over him again. He wanted to duck his head again, retreat to the darkness, it felt so heavy, like a crown of empty gold.

As if sensing that, Axel’s fingers wove themselves into the dirty blonde hair, the contact making Roxas shiver. The locks were long enough for him to get a decent handful, to feel the damp roots where Roxas had sweat through the fever that the spanking set into his blood. Axel’s grip at the hair at the back of his skull was all that kept his head aloft, despite his best intentions of wanting to keep looking, to prove he could do it. 

“You’re not going to do that again. Tell me you understand.” Axel’s tone left no room for arguments or negotiations

“Y-Yes,” Roxas answered in a soft, raspy voice. “I understand. “

“And tell me,” Axel tugged at the roots and it was all Roxas could do to not openly moan, but he couldn’t restrain the whine of hurt, of startled happiness when Axel’s other hand cupped one side of his flushed, wet face. He leaned into it seeking comfort, further skin to skin contact, but responded to the barest of nudges to make sure he was listening to Axel’s words. “That next time you’re in a bad way like that, you will come to me when you need it.”

“I-I will,” Roxas began, swallowing and leaning his face further into the meat of Axel’s palm. “I will come to you w-when I need it.”

Axel stared into his eyes, making Roxas feel more naked and raw than his aching bottom, as if confirming that he was being completely honest. Roxas couldn’t resist nuzzling his face into Axel’s touch, lipping at his fingers, needy even still. At the heat radiating off Axel’s palm, a distant part of his brain clicked with the thought that Axel’s hand must hurt too, having spanked him so many times and with such consistent, unwavering strength. 

He kissed mindlessly at what portion of his pale hand he could at this angle, noting it was flushed as well, and making a soft apologetic sound, strange from his own mouth. He held Axel’s gaze as best he could, his own heavily lidded eyes widening as the acidfire green suddenly drew closer, and as it did the cold, steely veneer in them faded to be replaced with a warm, absinthe softness. Axel had used the grip along Roxas’s cheek where he was kissing to pull him further up on his knees, until their faces were inches apart.

It was when Axel nudged the tip of Roxas’s nose with his own, let their breath mingle in the blade-wide chasm between them, and murmured clearly but quietly, “Good boy.” that Roxas started crying anew, a trickle racing down his ruddy cheek to disappear between Axel’s fingers as relief settled over him in an excruciating but blissful sheet. 

“S'alright, baby,” Axel cooed to him, rotating his palm into a waxing crescent along the moon of Roxas’s face. “You did so good, Rox. I’m proud of you.”

“M’sorry,” Roxas whined, clutching at Axel’s shoulders with shaky fingers, tangling in the thin wife beater straps. “M’sorry, sorry.”

“No more apologies,” Axel tutted, sweeping a hand down Roxas’s spine soothingly. “We’re all done with that.”

Knowing Roxas would only continue his babble in this state, he dipped his face to catch his panting mouth in a scorching kiss. He impressed that point over and over with each languid sweep of his tongue until he could feel the anxiety settle to a simmer within the younger man. As their mouths parted, the taste and molten heat of Roxas’s lips and tongue fading from his own, a smug smile spread.

“Do you wanna come?” Axel murmured, flicking the tip of his pierced tongue against Roxas’s lip.

“Please!” Roxas appealed again at the notion, buckling further against him, fingers tightening.

“Alright,” Axe began, sinking to resume his position lounging on the couch, a hand dropping to undo the zipper that obscured his own straining erection. “Make yourself cum.” Axel allowed his expression to flatten sternly again for a moment. “And try to make it good for me.”

Roxas watched the seam of his pants open, Axel’s pale fingers jack preemptively at the angry, flushed and pulsing length, and unwittingly licked his lips, tasting salt. In some hindbrain hemisphere, Roxas understood and relished that he wasn’t the only one affected by the spanking, and considered what he must have looked like to Axel right now. Piteous? Pathetic? Insatiable? Roxas rolled his hips to grind their cocks together with a scalding shiver at that thought, the picture of seraphim desperation, chasing the wet friction to its heavenly end under oppressive eyes. Axel watched his golden brows knit, the sweat trickle down his face, the wire-taut tension beneath the skin of his arms, and the far-gone expression in his ocean eyes that deepened the longer he tried, Atlas in breakdown.

He continued trying, smooth rolls of his hips deteriorating into jagged, juddering movements. As Roxas’s momentum faltered with exhaustion and his face flushed further saccharine in refusal to yield, Axel extended an inked arm and squeezed his throat, catching the broken cry of frustration that wilted and thrummed against his palm through the flesh like a hummingbird, eyes intent and ravenous. With his other hand he squeezed at the inflamed flesh of his ass and delivered a smack that made the blonde’s back arch into a golden bow. He then drew his hand between them to encircle both of their lengths, to the smaller man’s whimpers of gratitude. 

“You’re going to look at me when you come,” he told Roxas, tightening his grip on the operative words, spreading his legs slightly to plant his weight in his booted feet so he could thrust upward to take charge of what little rhythm remained.. 

“Yes, yes, yes…!” Roxas babbled, his elbows drawing into tight angles between them as he brought their chests closer.

“And you’re going to tell me when you’re coming.” Axel snarled in a jarring feral display, grip tightening vice-like to see Roxas cry out and come to attention. 

“Yes!” the younger man insisted in a high voice, a fleeting grit of fury, of dormant competitiveness starting to awaken in the delirium. “ _Please! Make me!_ ”

With Axel’s delightfully calloused hand and own flexing hips taking the well-worn reins, Roxas surrendered to his lead. Axel savored the visceral reaction of Roxas bending forward to pant against his own throat at the overwhelming contact. A dangerous pride and possessiveness boiled within him as he gave Roxas exactly what he asked for, wringing out the last dregs of resistance in the younger man with each twist and flex of his fist. It was such a stark contrast, the boy who entered this apartment all cold fire and fury, to the writhing, pleading tangle of ivory and gold in his grasp now.

“A-Axel,” Roxas alerted, breaking off in a canary yellow warning as his body juddered and twitched. “M’gonna come!” 

“Yeah?” Axel encouraged, breath starting to become more labored, voice gruff. “You gonna be a good boy and show me?”

He felt one of Roxas’s hands pound and then claw weakly at his collarbone, saw the blades of the blonde’s shoulders hunch into sharp points as he folded in on himself. He was practically vibrating through his bones.

“Let go, Roxas.” Axel instructed him, hand twisting and jerking their aligned cocks, feeling Roxas swaying over the edge, ready to drop. “Come for me.”

All it took was his other hand following the curve of the younger’s swollen, pink ass and dipping his fingers between the inflamed cheeks to press with purpose against his hole to do as he asked, make him. Roxas did it with a silent scream that broke into sound as his body spasmed and a dark haze filled his vision, enhancing the physical brutality of it further. With Axel watching attentively, the sharp, broken cry, much like the release bursting from his tip, was caught between the two bodies, Axel holding and working the younger man through the overwhelming sensations. As Roxas shuddered and his nerves fired haphazardly, Axel used his other anchor on the meat of Roxas’s ass to haul his juddering form to meet his own thrusts. With the image of the blonde’s shattering orgasm etched across his mind with all the exhalation of the Sistine Chapel, and the display in front of him, of Roxas, debauched, open-mouthed, hazy-eyes Roxas, trembling and wet in his grasp, it only took a select few thrusts for him to also topple over the edge.

Roxas’s fingers had clutched at his shoulders as he groaned and let his head fall back to accept the pleasure, he could feel the electric aftershocks even as the younger man sagged and collapsed against him, the last wire of tension cut, suspension broken. Axel growled the blonde’s name in a low hiss, feeling the languid spatter of his release fall against his already wet knuckles where his hand was still wrapped around them both, prolonging the orgasm. 

With Roxas was crumpled against his front, his barely open pants and stained shirt be damned, Axel spent those following moments coming down pressing light kisses to the blonde skull and heated cheekbone, sweeping the edges of his fingers along the younger’s limp frame and murmuring quiet words of praise he couldn’t be sure Roxas was even processing. What he was sure of was that they needed to relocate, lest Xion walk in and discover a spectacle like this for the umpteenth time and demand damages for pain and suffering. And he was absolutely sure that he was on his own on that venture, with Roxas a dead weight of satisfied sunshine against him.

* * *

Roxas wasn’t entirely aware of when he dropped, if the drop actually began earlier on, or when precisely it began to clear. He knew when he came to that the scenery had changed. No longer were they in the living room, as familiar as his own two feet, but he could distinctly tell through the haze that they were now in the bedroom. Before he could even start to consider panicking, he felt the exquisite softness of a blanket shift around his shoulders and the unhurried glide of a hand down his back.

“Ax?” Roxas murmured, only half the syllable making it out.

“Back with me?” Axel’s voice asked above him, giving his waist a light squeeze as if physically confirming his proximity as well.

“I…,” Roxas swallowed, not happy about the growing awareness of how raw his trachea was.

With the fog beginning to taper and clear, leaving a bone-deep exhaustion in its wake, Roxas pieced everything together. Axel had obviously managed to get them out of the communal space and back into their own den of sin, which is where he found himself, half laying on Axel’s chest and tucked along his side, one arm wrapped around his waist beneath the blanket and the other continuing its repetitive path up and down his back. Instead of continuing he let his head fully drop back on to Axel’s pectoral, inhaling the older man’s familiar, soothing scent as he sighed deeply and nestled even closer, or attempted to.

“Good,” Axel hummed, the sound vibrating through his throat near Roxas’s ear. 

They lay there in comfortable silence, save for the whir of the overhead fan’s rotation, taking the time to fully come back online. Everything still felt gauzy and warm, tucked as he was into the nook of Axel’s grounding half embrace, safe and sublime. 

“Thank you,” Roxas finally mumbled into the hush, feeling Axel’s head twist to undoubtedly peer down at him, the brush of lips at his hair that had his eyes drooping closed again. 

“You’re welcome,” the redhead answered with an amused lilt. “You really needed it, huh?”

Roxas was too tired to scrunch his nose, accepted the defeat instead. “M’sorry.” 

“Shh,” Axel hushed him with a squeeze to his nape that was now bordering on Pavlovian. “Told ya, we’re done with that. We can address all that after you take a nap, you definitely need it.”

Roxas sighed with an upturned quirk of his lips, barely managing to shift his own left arm to further wrap around Axel, sinking further into the half embrace and warm cocoon.

“Think you deserve an award or something?” Roxas huffed in a fading tease. “Most Malleable to My Needs?”

“Baby, if you needed me to be Helen Mirren for you, I would sure as hell try.” Axel assured. “But I can’t promise I’d be able to adequately emulate the level of unflappable class along with the sex appeal.”

Roxas snorted half heartedly, feeling the anvils of his feet and hands grow heavy and useless. “You can barley manage the sex appeal.”

Axel’s hand swept back down Roxas’s spine to tap one finger pointedly just above his ass. “Now, now, don’t make me have to spank you for lying too. Go back to bed, brat.”

Roxas fell asleep smiling.

* * *

By the time he woke up a few hours later, still feeling incredibly wrung out, but in a way that he felt more like a clean dishrag than a dirty, crusty one like earlier, he found himself alone. The sun was setting by the light filtering through the curtain and the passage of time had allowed the deep ache to set into his ass. He noticed a full glass of water on the end table and gratefully downed it in a few gulps. It took a careful bit of rolling to rise, but he trudged into the living room to find the futon had disappeared like it was Christmas morning. He was shocked that he’d slept through the ruckus of it being hauled out, though Lexeaus probably could pick up the thing with one arm. 

Axel was dropping sheets of paper towels, alias napkins, at different points around the table where three mismatched glasses with ice sat, and Xion was carrying two plates of chicken tikka masala out from the kitchen. When Axel spotted him approaching, the redhead smiled his soft, crooked smile and pressed a kiss to his temple, which the blonde leaned into with a yawn.

“You good?” Axel quietly asked against his cheek.

“Mm-hmm,” Roxas replied with a tired, but content smile.

Xion poked her torso out from the kitchen to wave at him, her striped black and green shirt and overalls flecked with orange sauce. She also proudly presented them with a Bed Bath & Beyond coupon she’d been given that was good for more cookware. Axel thanked Angela Bassett for this good fortune. When asked why, he said that Angela Bassett had done a hell of a lot more for him than God did.

When they all settled down to eat, Xion in the armchair with her legs crossed beneath her, Axel back in his sprawl at one end of the sofa, it left Roxas with a predicament. He tried for casual, standing but leaning his unbruised hip against the couch arm between him and Axel. Xion arched one dark eyebrow at Roxas, who was staring directly down into his plate with all the intensity of a chess Grandmaster.

“Uh, Roxas?” she asked. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She was even more confused when a blush flared along the tips of his ears where they poked out from his blonde locks. Xion hadn’t been looking at Axel, but if she had she would have seen him sporting a smirk like the cat that got the canary.

“I, uh,” Roxas stirred his spoon once, the sound of rice and chicken sliding lewdly against each other loud. “I didn’t take care of myself. So I need to take it easy.”

“Aw, Rox.” Axel tutted innocently, balancing his plate on his lap and reaching over the arm of the couch to give Roxas’s ass a pat, to which Roxas bit back a squeak. “You know what happens when you don’t take care of yourself…”

Roxas raised his fork and looked pointedly down at the outstretched tattooed arm Axel angled around him to torture his already beat up behind, raising a brow threateningly. 

“People die.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> While there’s no actual prior discussion/kink negotiation before the spanking begins, consider this normal, healthy behavior in their relationship.


End file.
